"But your Polish republic will still be a part of the vast Russian dominions, just as Livland and Little Russia will be; and over us there will be some one—a chief, who is lord over the nine republics, although I know not what title or what amount of power he will possess. And I swear to you I do not wish for a freedom that shall be the downfall of my country."
The deep silence which ensued proved that the Pole had hit the right nail upon the head. There was an expression of uneasy conviction on all faces.
Then Nicholas Turgenieff, the president, rose to speak.
"Take comfort, Krizsanowski. The chief of the republic, he who will be head of the nine republics, will be no autocrat, no tyrant under any other name."
"What, then?"
"That which he must of necessity be—un président sans phrases."
The conversation had taken place in French. These four words had nearly cost Turgenieff his estates and his head.
The words were scarce spoken, when the roulette-board suddenly slipped back into its place, effectually concealing "the green book," and the door opened. Copper-plate and door were an ingeniously constructed piece of machinery. If "the green book" were exposed to view, and any one opened the outer door, the roulette slid back instantly into its place.
Chevalier Galban, entering, only heard Nicholas Turgenieff's four last words, and saw nothing but a gambling-table.
The banker repeated—